


let me count the ways

by whitemiists



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, just so much tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 16:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4632930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitemiists/pseuds/whitemiists
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>“iwa-chan, how much do you love me?”<br/>“more than i can count on all of my fingers and toes.”<br/>“you wanna use mine?”</i>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	let me count the ways

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Как я тебя люблю](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5885800) by [angryKlear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryKlear/pseuds/angryKlear)



> I wrote this a long time ago, in February! But someone wanted it posted here on ao3, so here it is ^^
> 
> (Ah. [Here](http://whitemiists.tumblr.com/post/112121376782/let-me-count-the-ways) is the fic on tumblr, if anyone would like it for any reason).
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://lizclimo.tumblr.com/post/93492759709/happy-first-birthday-marlow-i-love-you-more-than) post.

Perhaps his favorite thing about having Iwa-chan for a lover is using him as a pillow late at night; draping himself over his torso, so that his warmth seeps through their shirts and blankets him instead; hooking their fingers together, so that Iwa-chan absentmindedly roves circles over the skin of his knuckles; curling a leg around one of his, so that their limbs tangle in such a way that neither of them ever  _wants_ to unwind; silently falling asleep in each other’s company.

Tonight, however, he buries his nose into Iwaizumi’s neck, breathing in his clean scent from his evening shower, and asks, “Iwa-chan… what do you even like about me?”

Iwaizumi cracks open an eye, tuts impatiently, but the scowl on his face at his interrupted drowsiness melts away when he really  _looks_ at Oikawa. He sees the urgency in his gaze, the uncertain tilt to his mouth.

It’s not a question meant to tease. It’s not  _tell me what you like about me because I love being lavished with praise,_ but  _please tell me why you love me because I honestly can’t see why anyone ever would._

“There’s plenty,” he grunts, almost unconsciously holding him just a little bit tighter.

“Like what?” Oikawa presses him, curious. He props up his head, chin resting on Iwaizumi’s chest, and watches him closely through his lashes. “Count them off on your fingers, Iwa-chan. I wanna hear them all.”

“There’s  _too_ many, okay? I couldn’t count them on my fingers. Or my toes,” he adds as an afterthought.

He thinks that might appease him, might finally lull him to sleep. Oikawa likes grand, romantic gestures, but it’s always the little, subtle hints that put him at ease the best, like knowing that he’s loved enough that it can’t even be counted on twenty digits. And he gets in these moods often, has these flashes of insecurity that have become alarmingly common since middle school, but Iwaizumi knows how to soothe them back again.

There’s a quiet lull between them and he thinks that this might be the end of it.

“Let’s use mine, then,” Oikawa suddenly suggests, already uncurling one arm from around Iwaizumi’s waist to procure his hand from their embrace. Iwaizumi blinks down at him, confused, and he elaborates, “If  _your_ fingers won’t work, I mean.”

“Are you… serious?” he asks weakly, feeling sleep already abandon him, but he can tell Oikawa is very much so when he firmly holds up his pointer finger. The pause between them is expectant, the type that means this topic isn’t going to end very soon and certainly not without his participation, and Iwaizumi sighs as he rubs his face.  _“Fine,”_ he relents, trying to think of words around his muddled thoughts. “Well, I guess I like your–”

“Wait, wait,” he’s suddenly interrupted, and Oikawa purses his lips. “Let’s establish the rules first.”

“There are  _rules?”_

“There are always rules, Iwa-chan.” He shakes his head, like it’s  _so_ foolish of him to think otherwise. “Well, first, you can’t say anything about my looks.  _Everyone_ loves my looks.” He pauses to flick a lock of hair off his forehead and smirk, a smooth quirk of his lips, but Iwaizumi doesn’t know who he’s putting on the show for when it’s just the two of them.

“I wasn’t going to say anything about your looks,” he grumbles. “I’ve seen what you look like before your morning routine, remember?  _Hideous.”_

Oikawa glares at him, visibly considers kicking up a fuss about the quip, but then decides this is more important. “Our love is more than skin deep, Iwa-chan,” he says pointedly, “so I want reasons that are also more than skin deep.”

“All right, all right,” he agrees gruffly, massaging his forehead.

“Number two. No repeats. That one’s obvious, of course.”

_“Of course.”_

“Number three. If I decide a reason is not good enough, then you must think of a better one. You may boost your original answer with a thicker layer of love, or think of a brand new reason.”

Iwaizumi stares at him flatly, but apparently he’s not looking for a response.

“And lastly, number four.” There’s a sudden change in the temperature in the room, no longer so warm and cuddly like their embrace on the bed, but like a chill has suddenly settled over them. Oikawa meets his eyes seriously, his face set into stone. “If at any point you can’t think of any more reasons, then… that’s a sign that you don’t love me.”

Iwaizumi tenses, dumbfounded as he burns a hole into Oikawa with his stare. _“What?”_

“And going off rule four,” the setter continues, playing with the collar of his shirt, no longer meeting his eyes. “Rule four, b. You have to tell me if at any point you…” His breath comes out in a puff, shaky and almost afraid, and he mumbles the rest. “…realize you don’t love me anymore.”

Iwaizumi clutches him so tightly that he might break, but he already looks like he might do so all on his own, suddenly so fragile in his arms. He doesn’t understand how a simple question had turned into this, a question of his love, a test for their relationship.

“Oikawa…” he begins, eyebrows creased, wanting to know whether something’s happened.

But the setter beats him to it, suddenly smiley all over again as his gaze snaps up to meet his. “Okay!” he exclaims cheerily, grinning wide. “So those are the rules. But don’t worry, Iwa-chan, because apparently you love me  _sooooo_ much. More than you can count on your fingers and toes. So you’ll be fine, right?”

He stares at him, tries to gauge whether that smile is genuine or fake, but it’s impossible to tell when it’s somewhere perfectly in the middle; he’s gotten better at that, and it’s worrisome. There really is no other way, Iwaizumi realizes, than to play along with his little game and prove himself, and luckily he’d meant each and every word about the magnitude of his feelings. How Oikawa could  _ever_ think differently is beyond him, after all these years they’ve been together.

“That’s right,” he huffs confidently, tangling a few fingers into the setter’s hair and scratching his scalp.

He grins hazily, pleased by the answer, and wags his finger widely in the air like he’s conducting an orchestra. “Okay, then, start. I’m  _dying_ to hear this.”

Iwaizumi plays with his silky locks for a moment, just staring at the ceiling and thinking, trying to decide how he wants to start this. Somehow, after the sudden heavy atmosphere a minute ago, he feels like they need to begin on a good note.

“I love…” He sucks in a breath, shakes his head, and tries again. “I like how good you are at volleyball–”

_“Buzz, buzz!”_ Oikawa instantly interrupts him, poking him on the nose and curling out his own bottom lip. “I cannot believe this, Iwa-chan, but you have  _already_ forced me to add a new rule!  _No volleyball talk.”_

_“Why?”_ he demands, clenching his teeth. He’d thought Oikawa would like volleyball talk the best, as his biggest passion and love in life. It had seemed like a good starting point for a dedicated setter.

He taps him on the nose again, much more gentle this time, and his voice is soft as he states plainly, “I already know you love the me who plays volleyball, Iwa-chan. Just like I love the  _you_ who plays volleyball.” A small smile curls his lips despite the sappy things he’d said, or  _because_ of the sappy things he’d said, and Iwaizumi has to look away.

“All right,  _fine,”_ he relents semi-reluctantly, then goes back to staring at the ceiling in thought.

Somehow it feels like the pressure’s gone now, though, now that he’s already screwed up, now that he’s learned that one mistake wouldn’t mean Oikawa would pack his bags and leave right then.

“I like that you make one mean cup of coffee,” he decides, because it feels safe. And it’s the truth, because despite how  _god awful_ Oikawa might be at cooking, his blood is practically half coffee after ingesting so much all his life, and so the steaming cup he makes Iwaizumi every morning is honestly a part of his day he can no longer go without.

“You like starting your day with a little  _Tooru_ in your cup?” Oikawa teases, snickering, but he also holds up his next finger and declares, “All right. I’ll accept that, but only because you’ve never complimented my coffee before. I was honestly starting to think you dump it down the sink when I’m not looking! Onto reason number two, then.”

More tension eases off his shoulders as he realizes this game isn’t as daunting as he’d thought it would be after all. He’s not even embarrassed –  _as_ embarrassed – at what a gooey and sappy,  _Oikawa-like_ game it is, because the thought of making a mistake and ruining their relationship forever weighs much heavier in his mind.

“Uh, right.” He clears his throat once, thinking. “Okay, um, I like…” And suddenly he’s blushing, ears and cheeks burning red, as he forces out the words so blunt and honest that they’re embarrassing. “I-I like the way you hum and skip a little when you walk, because, well, it’s…”  _Cute,_ he wants to say, but the word gets stuck in his throat.

Oikawa chuckles, taking the red shell of his ear into his hand and tugging on it playfully. “Don’t be so embarrassed, Iwa-chan. You’re making  _me_ shy. You should be able to say these things clearly to your boyfriend, don’t you think?”

“You’re not making it easier,” he hisses through clenched teeth, dutifully staring at the ceiling and trying to bring down the redness.

He claps a hand over his mouth, then mumbles around it, “Would it help if I stayed quiet and let you do your thing?” Iwaizumi nods his head once, and he holds up his next finger. “Okay, I’ll pretend I have tape over my mouth, then, and you move on to reason three.”

“O… kay.” He breathes out slowly. “I-I like how much you like milk bread, because you always look really happy when you’re eating it.” He always hums cheerily as he rips open the package and gobbles down the bread in giant bites, like he just can’t get enough, and Iwaizumi likes smirking affectionately and wiping crumbs off his face with his thumb.

True to his words, Oikawa says nothing, his other hand still over his mouth, and simply holds up his fourth finger.

“I like that when you shower, you always draw a smiley face in the steam on the mirror.” It always makes him smile himself, to see it so unexpectedly.

The thumb darts out.

“I like that… the first thing you do in the morning is turn on the radio.”

“Oh?” Oikawa perks up, looking hopeful. “Does that mean you like my singing, Iwa-chan!”

_“God,_ no.” He rolls his eyes. “You suck. But…” It’s nice, waking up to Oikawa’s slow ballads or his upbeat pop songs and watching the setter hum cheerily as he does his hair – even if he throws pillows at him on those ridiculously early mornings.

_“What?”_ His face falls. “Maybe I shouldn’t count that one, because I’m really not feeling the love this time.”

_“For god’s sake…”_ He’d forgotten about that stupid third rule. Clenching his teeth, he spits out, “It’s more like… it’s a nice thing. About dating you, I mean. I wouldn’t have that with just anybody.”

Oikawa beams all over again, then shuffles around a bit to extract his other hand out from their embrace, to hold up six fingers.  _“Oooh,_ okay, I like that. I like hearing that I’m the  _obvious_ choice to be your boyfriend. No one else could bring sunshine to your mornings like me, right, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at how pleased he looks with himself, but decides now is not the time for a snappy retort. “Yeah, yeah. Moving on. I… like that you always divide up the newspaper in the morning, so that we don’t have to fight over it.” He always carefully goes through each page, picking out the headlines he thinks Iwaizumi would like versus those he wants to read himself, and then they switch. Somehow they  _always_ find  _something_ to argue about in the mornings, but the newspaper has never been one of them.

Oikawa holds up seven fingers.

“I like that you always let me –  _make me_ – have a taste of your ice-cream.”

“I’m a generous soul,” Oikawa laughs, holding up another finger. “And you would never have discovered your love for triple fudge-banana otherwise!”

“That’s why I like that,” he says pointedly, pressing his thumb against Oikawa’s forehead, like a softer version of a flick. “And I like that you’ll always order something new you’ve never tried before at every restaurant we go to. And then make  _me_ try the dishes you think I’ll like, because I know I get all annoyed with you putting food on my plate, but damn it, you usually get it right.”

Oikawa looks so proud of himself that he has to purse his lips to smother his smirk, especially since Iwaizumi looks so reluctant to have admitted it, and then they’ve reached number nine.

“I like that you buy band-aids with different designs on them for different body parts,” he says, thinking of the thick stack they have in their first-aid kit. The ones with flowers on them are for the face, because, as Oikawa had put it, they needed a pretty design to match his beautiful features. The ones with volleyballs on them are for their legs, for obvious reasons. And the ones with aliens on them are for their hands – because they’re Oikawa’s favorite, which means they get to use them the most, since hand injuries are most common. The setter kicks up a fuss if Iwaizumi even dares to use the wrong band-aid for the wrong body part, and while Iwaizumi grumbles about it during a real emergency, he secretly thinks it’s endearing that Oikawa gets so  _happy_ to have roses plastered on his cheek.

For number ten, he decides, “I like that when girls give you Valentine’s chocolates, you always accept them and eat every single one.”

Oikawa falters, wrinkles forming on his forehead. “What? You  _like_ that, Iwa-chan? Even though someone else confessed their love for me?”

Iwaizumi grabs his nose and smiles affectionately. “Idiot. If you were some jerk who threw a girl’s handmade chocolates in the trash, do you think I’d like you at  _all?”_ It’s a roundabout way of saying,  _I like you because you’re a nice person,_ and he hopes Oikawa understands. Maybe he does, because he seems way happier about the explanation than he should be.

“Okay, I’m out of fingers!” he proclaims, but then he flips over, so his back fits against Iwaizumi’s chest, and lifts a leg into the air. Yanking off his sock, he presses a finger against his big toe. “Next?”

Iwaizumi pauses at first to smirk, amused by Oikawa’s leg suspended in the air and the expectant look on his face. “I like that,” he begins, but then he shakes his head and starts all over again. “I like  _you because_ … when we were little, you used to love collecting those stickers that come with pieces of gum. But when I broke my leg, you brought them to my house and stuck them  _all_ on my cast to cheer me up.”

Oikawa laughs at the memory. “In the end you only had that cast for a week, and I was upset that I’d wasted all my stickers just for five days. But it’s the thought that counts, right?” He moves his finger to his next toe.

“I like you because in middle school I didn’t want to be in the school play, so you gave up your role as the prince to join me in the crew, so we could be together.”

Oikawa hums softly, moving his finger over again, but then mumbles, “I like you because you knew how much I  _wanted_ to be the prince, so you ended up taking a part in the play after all, so that I wouldn’t quit.”

Iwaizumi looks away, embarrassed, and flushes over the hazy smile on his face. “Stupid. I just  _wanted_ to wear a tree costume, okay?” he insists, but neither of them is buying it. He plows on anyway. “I like you because  _during_ the play, you always kept bringing me water backstage because you knew the costume was too hot.”

_Are you all right, Iwa-chan?_ he would ask nervously, trying to look like he wasn’t worried at all.  _Need some water, Iwa-chan? You’re not going to pass out, are you, Iwa-chan?_ His cape would swish grandly as he ran back and forth from the water table, usually seconds before he had to go back on stage.

“And then I had to help you out of it like three times because you had to go to the bathroom,” he snickers, earning him a light smack on the head.  _“Ow._ Geez, Iwa-chan, learn to laugh at yourself sometimes, would you?”

He glares, but moves on to number fourteen. “I like you because you laugh enough for the both of us.”

For number fifteen, he decides, “I like you because whenever your mother calls, you’re on the phone with her for  _at least_ two hours. And you always get excited when she calls. And you listen to her talk and talk and talk. And you want to know everything. And you want to  _tell_ her everything.”

Oikawa looks thoughtful. “Should that count?” he muses, his lips pursed. “You’re the same way with  _your_ mom. The talking forever and listening part, at least. You could stand to smile more, honestly.”

_“Stu-pid._ I like how much you get along with your mom  _because_ I get along with my mom. It’s a ‘like attracts like’ situation.”

_“Ahhh.”_ He seems happy with the explanation, so he accepts. His leg plops back down onto the mattress, bouncing lightly, but then he hangs up the other and pulls off his sock, his finger coiling around his big toe.

Iwaizumi has to restart again. He begins with, “I like you because…” But somehow, as he thinks about what he wants to say, about  _how_ much he’s always admired him for it, about how much it’s shaped his feelings, it doesn’t seem like enough. He begins again, and he pretends not to notice the pleasant surprise on Oikawa’s face as he says, “I  _love_ you… because of the way you are with Takeru.” Their gazes clash more seriously than usual, the air between them dulling somewhat, as he adds, “I love you for stepping up. I love you for taking him to practice every week. I love you for going to his school events. I love you for watching over him all the time.”

“…Wow, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs, almost looking embarrassed. And it’s strange that he is, because for once, Iwaizumi is not. “Knocking them all out at once, are you?”

“Dumbass,” he retorts, but it’s with obvious affection. He even ruffles his hair. “Those were all a part of number sixteen.”

Oikawa, for once, doesn’t have a comeback or a teasing remark to throw out; he just looks genuinely  _flattered,_ a rare sight for someone whose smiles were often plastic, and Iwaizumi decides to gently move on.

“I love you,” he says, “because of that one time when we were kids, when I told you that if aliens really  _did_ abduct you, we would probably never see each other again. I love you because then you started to cry.”

_I don’t wanna never see Iwa-chan again!_ he had sobbed openly, and Iwaizumi had actually gotten in trouble because his mother had misunderstood the situation and thought he’d said something mean to his friend, but still he remembers that day fondly.

“I love you,” he adds next, “because of that one volleyball camp you skipped when we were little – you didn’t want me to be alone because I got sick and had to stay home – even though you  _really_ wanted to go.” He’d been prattling on about it for _weeks,_ but Iwaizumi had collapsed with a fever the night before, and the next morning, at the time the bus was meant to leave, he’d cracked open his eyes to find Oikawa worrying at his bedside.

“Careful, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases now. Apparently he’s over his previous bashfulness, because he drawls, “That sounds like it’s getting dangerously close to volleyball talk. You know the rules." But they both know the reason has nothing to do with volleyball at all, but with how Oikawa gives up so much for Iwaizumi. And in a heartbeat.

"I love you,” he carries on, knowing he doesn’t need to explain himself, “because one time you got stuck on top of the jungle gym and didn’t know how to get down, so I told you to jump and I would catch you, and you did.” And he’d caught him easily, even though he’d bruised his own chest from the impact. It hadn’t hurt at all, not when he’d known he had his friend’s complete and absolute trust.

Oikawa slowly curls his fingers around his pinky toe, then glances up at him. “Last one,” he mumbles, and almost looks surprised. “Wow, Iwa-chan, you didn’t have to stop at all.”

“Of course,” he huffs, knocking a fist against the top of his head. “What did you think?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought…” His breath hitches, the words sticking to his throat. He hesitates, chews on his bottom lip, stares at the wall. “You know, I… went to go greet the new neighbors today,” he tells him out of the blue, still staring adamantly at the far wall. “They were nice people. Until… they heard about you and me.”

Iwaizumi freezes, gut coiling, feeling like he’s been punched. Something like ice pumps through his heart for how paralyzed he suddenly feels. “What did they say?” he asks, and his voice comes out clipped.

He lowers his gaze. “Not much. J-Just… some stuff.”

_“Oikawa,”_ Iwaizumi hisses sternly, grinding his teeth, crushing the setter to him. _“What did they say?”_

“I-I don’t know. All sorts of stuff, Iwa-chan.” He swallows. “Something like it’s a phase, o-or it won’t last, or it’s not…  _real._ I-I just wanted to be sure–”  _That your love for me was real._

“I’m gonna bash their heads in,” he declares to the room, the words hard like steel. “I’m gonna fucking turn 'em black and blue and red, and I’m gonna–”

_“Don’t!”_ Oikawa insists, sounding panicked.

“Oikawa, they  _fucking told you–”_

“I’m over it now,” he cuts across him, shaking his head and clutching his shirt tightly. “I’m all better now, okay? Because of the things you said. Just… let’s just finish.”

Iwaizumi stares at him, fire burning in his eyes, and he has a feeling Oikawa had left out the worse details in his telling of the story, probably because he’d known Iwaizumi would fly off the handle. There’s no way he’s letting them off. Tomorrow, he decides, they would need to  _exchange words._

“Number twenty,” the setter presses on then, sounding unnerved by his silence. “Iwa-chan, it’s the last one. Make it count.”

He doesn’t want to change the topic so easily. He’d wondered whether something had happened for this sudden insecurity to come about, but he’d never expected something this terrible, and really all he wants to do now is tear down those bastards’ door or hold Oikawa until he falls asleep.

But the setter looks up at him expectantly, still holding on to his foot, and he runs a hand down his face.

“Fine,” he sighs, giving in for now because that’s what his boyfriend wants. But it’s far from the last time he would bring it up, of that he’s certain. “Number twenty, then.”

“Make it good,” he requests, smiling again. It’s one of his more loving smiles, wide enough that it causes wrinkles around his eyes, and Iwaizumi wonders how  _anyone_ could have the heart to say such cruel things to the setter.

He mulls over it for a moment, wanting to think of the perfect last reason. It feels even more important than starting their little game on a good note, so he carefully considers his words before finally the decision comes easily.

“I love you,” he says, his voice gentle, “because sometimes you’re so clingy that it’s annoying, and sometimes you need me to list off twenty things to be sure I love you, but you’ve never not been sure that you love  _me._ And… I don’t know how I got to be so lucky.”

Briefly, through the haze of Oikawa’s lips all over his face, he muses that he should have mentioned loving his kisses, too.


End file.
